The Fairest of Them All
by Decembers-Coldest-Rain
Summary: Our resistant hero,Roxas, is forced to wear a magic, gender-switching necklace so he can attend the ball and save the day. Nobody expected the peckish prince to fall in love, though. Now only hilarity may ensue. Yaoi; Sora and Roxas
1. prelude

**Title: **The Fairest of them All

**Description: **A satire in which our resistant hero is forced to wear a magic, gender-switching heirloom so he can attend the ball and save the day. Nobody expected the peckish prince to fall in love, though. Now only hilarity may ensue.

**Pairing(s):** Sora / Roxas _(soiku, akuroku)_

**Author's Note:** I like funny stories. :D

* * *

Prelude:

* * *

Roxas was leaning at the edge of a shoddy wooden table, sweeping his forefinger luxuriously around the rim of an earthy mug filled to the brim with ale, and eying his best friend in the entire world. Outside he could hear the rain, a distant rumble mixed in with the excited chatter of human voices bubbling throughout the tavern he was currently filling. Axel sat next to him, wooden chair leaning back on two feet, with his own shoes maintaining balance on their table. He looked fluid, and natural. Roxas took a drink, feigning interest as the red head (with hair that defied gravity, and was spiky, and all those other cliches so often used to describe Axel's simply flamboyant hair) continued to tell a story with increasing volume and enthusiasm to the rest of their party; Pence, Olette, and Hayner.

"And the pig was _screaming_," Axel yelled, and Roxas' eye ticked at that. He glanced down at the teetering feet of his friend's chair. "so naturally I had to catch him, but he was running like 'e was on _fire_! So I thinks to myself..."

It smelled like dirt in the tavern, and the only light filling the room came from candles on the table, and the grandiose fireplace burning in some far-off corner. That same fire made the air hazy – that and the multiple pipes gruff men were smoking, and the cigarettes. Roxas eyed his own; he'd forgotten he had it. A bit of tan paper with tobacco rolled into it, a rare find for someone as... financially challenged as Roxas.

You see, he was poor as dirt. Except the dirt in their village was actually very rich in nutrients, and indeed fantastic for farming. So, realistically, he was poorer than dirt.

He was as poor as something very poor, though.

The blond dragged off his cigarette, and mused about how it had yet to be mentioned that he was indeed a blond, with his own gravity-defying spikes that were messy as they were bed-fresh. You see, Roxas didn't care about his hair. It just happened to be attractive on it's own – which tended to be the luck of boys in his village. And, for the record, he had sky-blue eyes with deep, somber depths that girls loved, and a pert nose fixed above two very pouty lips.

That aside...

Oh yes, the tavern. There was laughter in the air, and the mood was jolly. Roxas tuned back into the story Axel was telling, though he had heard it maybe a million times. "So, I set the damn thing on fire," he friend was finished. Axel had a thing about fire. He liked it, a lot. He liked setting things on fire, he liked the way it looked and smelled and felt. It wasn't uncommon for him to get burnt in unfortunate accidents, because as much as Axel liked fire – fire liked him, too. It was one of those deadly attractions that Roxas found rather silly, since flames were easy enough to avoid if one put even an amoeba of effort into it.

Axel took a long drag from his mug, and then slammed the drink onto their table and allowed the momentum to pull his chair forwards onto all fours. Roxas huffed, for he'd been considering knocking his friend over for the last ten minutes of his gallant story about pig mutilation. It didn't matter, though, so he drew once again on the roll of paper wadded with tar between his fingers, and then flicked it into the dirt floor and snubbed it with his thin, leather boots. He felt the warmth against his big toe, but it didn't burn through. Which was good, because aforementioned, Roxas could not afford to replace the boots, and killing another deer for it's hide seemed... barbaric.

Roxas wasn't much for killing things. He sipped his beer, acutely aware that his friends (or, group of similarly financially impaired hoodlums) were talking amongst each other, and that he hadn't said anything for well-on ten minutes. It was just that Roxas wasn't one for talking. He could do it, and he was actually rather clever for an ex-farmhand who had never been afforded conventional schooling, but it was always so taxing. What he liked about Axel was the older male's ability to control conversation for him, so that he could remain a passive bystander and not have to deal directly with 'maintaining' any mood. He'd just slip something clever in and make everyone laugh occasionally, and that was enough.

There was a break in the mood, and a clamor rose up across the bar. Roxas turned to look along with the rest of his table, and found a group of men in front of the fire, arguing. He couldn't hear what was being said, and he didn't bother trying to strain above the feverant whispering of the other bags of meat in the tavern. He sipped again at the ale, the wooden mug rough against his lips. Axel once again pushed his chair up onto two feet, and he was grinning, rolling tobacco from a pouch at his hip.

Axel usually had cigarettes. That was another thing Roxas liked about him.

The blond wiped away the mustache of froth he felt on his upper lip. It was bitter. Across the room, where he had yet to stop staring, the argument had grown louder. One of the largest men stepped back, and Roxas realized there was a girl in the middle of the group. He immediately straightened up, because if you learned anything being raised by a single, worn woman on a farm, it was chivalry. He remembered his mother always telling him to treat a lady like she wished she had been treated, and that stuck with a boy. The girl stumbled out of the group, standing directly in front of the fire and becoming a silhouette in Roxas' eyes. He set down his beer nimbly, casting a bored glance at his table, locking eyes with Axel, and then once a mutual understanding had been reached, pushing himself off of the table and starting across the bar. Voices were grating against his ears, and he felt his neck go red under the scrutiny of other bored voyeurs.

A small ring had formed around the men by the fire, and Roxas, had he been anyone else, would have had to push through it. Being as it was, Roxas was the proud owner of a 'reputation' for violence, and thus, people got the fuck out of his way. He casually straddled up, hands stuck in the pockets of his deerskin trousers, eyes their usual shade of _bored_. He was mildly disgusted that no one had intervened, and upon closer inspection, he realized why.

The girl was a boy. A boy in a bright red cloak. And he looked a little bit like he was asking for it, the way he was yelling at the three men who had been surrounding him. Roxas' lip ticked along with his left eye – something he picked up around the time he started smoking – and he inhaled sharply. Roxas was standing at a moral impasse, you see. For, as far as his book went, you don't meddle in other people's business unless their meddlin' in yours (or their grating on your nerves, or breaking any of your other, non-extensive morals). But, be as that may, Roxas was never one to watch people gang up on someone, even if they were begging for it. The boy in the red cloak didn't seem to know what he was doing, and he made that abundantly clear by suddenly leaning forward and shoving the first man in the group. Roxas' eyebrow shot up at that.

A fight was inevitable. In slow-motion, because things like that happen, Roxas saw all three men recoil and then lunge, angrily. He dug with his tongue at a piece of meat stuck in his back tooth, before stepping forward like lightening and grabbing the first man by his outstretched fist. In the same fluid motion he placed himself between the boy and the three men, one arm going back to create space between the cloaked aggressor and the men who wanted to kick his ass. Roxas dimly noted that he touched fabric, before he was twisting the first man's hand and glaring daggers at the other two.

He couldn't actually take them, but they didn't know that. He had a really, _really_ bad reputation. What for? He had never really figured it out, but he suspected it had to do with all the not-talking, and the cigarette smoking. And probably because he liked to ambush royal guards and rob their carts, but that information should be looked at closely, later.

As for now, he was enjoying the way the men backed off. He nodded his head at the door, and they were gone. Smug, the blond turned to check on the spitfire whose ass he just saved so generously. The kid was on his butt on the dirt floor, looking up at Roxas with wide blue eyes.

Roxas' stomach did a flip or twelve, and it wasn't because the boy was pretty or because his hair was drearily gravity-defying (just like every other boy's). No, it was because of the little band of gold encircling the kid's temple, which had been hidden by the hood on his obnoxious, red cloak. Royalty. This was a prince. Roxas frowned, glaring at his left hand, which he had used to knock the boy back. And now the boy was on his bottom in the dirt. And this was Roxas' fault.

He computed for approximately two more seconds, before turning tail and running out the tavern's huge, wooden door, into the night. It was still raining, like black ooze from the sky, and Roxas' deerskin boots (which he'd dyed dark green, a detail of absolutely no consequence) slapped in the mud, sending up showers of water and dirt.

"Wait!" he heard someone scream from the tavern door, and he paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder. The prince was chasing after him? Into the rain? He'd only run on impulse, since physically harming royalty was a crime punishable by death, and this prick was really going to try and chase him down? For what? For helping? Roxas was frowning now. He glared forward again, unable to see anything in the dark, but knowing the roads of his hometown with little effort. This wasn't his first chase, nor would it be his last. He imagined he could hear the boy's (here one would insert that by 'boy' it should be inferred that the prince was possibly a year younger than Roxas, who himself was nineteen winters old) expensive boots smacking the mud, but in reality that would be impossible with the drizzling rain and the boom of blood in Roxas' ears. He rounded a corner, and then another, and then another.

Quick, with skill only a hoodlum would possess, Roxas bent himself into a small corner at the back of an abandoned alleyway. He disappeared into the shadows, watching as the prince trotted by, occasionally calling out in a voice that sounded smooth against all the ruckus of the night. His heart was beating quickly, but the teen was hardly jostled. He waited a few minutes after the prince was gone before unfolding himself from the shadows and smoothing his hair. The rain had let up, slightly, but it still stained his clothes. He trudged home, lips drawn into an amused grimace the entire way.

* * *

Nothing has been said of the setting our dear boys find themselves entangled with. Think of England, with cool weather and gray mornings. Imagine that things are feudal, and Roxas lives in a sprawling, dingy village just on the outskirts of a magnificent city known simply as, "Kingdom", which houses the great Castle Oblivion, which houses the royal family.

And yes, the royal surname is 'Oblivion'. How intimidating is that?

Digression. Roxas and Axel have been raised as paupers, and they're happy that way. People still churn their butter and Roxas' mom died when he was seven (his dad?.. who knows) and he has a brother named Cloud and a sister named Namine. Namine sews his clothes, Cloud makes the money (he is a blacksmith, and a damn good one). Roxas smokes cigarettes and occasionally robs people when times are tough. The village, which was never properly named anyways, has only dirt roads, except the market-road, which is cobblestone. Roxas inhabits a drafty wooden home with his siblings, and there are two rooms, one of which is a bathroom. They get by.

Axel drifts in and out of elderly couple's homes, helping them for a stint with their chores, and stealing. He stays with Roxas in-between, or sometimes in the woods at the edge of the village, if the weather permits. He calls it "getting in touch with nature".

* * *

Roxas awoke peacefully, the way one wishes to awake every morning. One moment he had been snoozing, dimly conscious and aware that there was a world beyond the one he dreamt of, and the next his eyes had fluttered open and registered that he did indeed exist in a realm beyond his own. And he was fiercely awake, passing from his dream-state into full consciousness breezily. He couldn't remember what he had been dreaming about, except that he had been feeling... orange. If that made any sense. Something about fruit, maybe. Or the sun.

He stayed on his cot for a stint longer, flat on his back, watching the sun filter in through the loose boards in the ceiling. He could see dust in the air, and he vaguely wondered if breathing it in would cause his lungs harm. Someone sneezed across the room.

Roxas didn't roll over immediately, but instead took the time to luxuriously stretch out each muscle in his body. He let his back arch until he reached a moment of divine pleasure, before everything cramped and he was forced to sit up. Axel was lounging in their open window, smoking a pipe and looking out at the street (which was thin, and lined with other tightly-packed, shoddy residential houses). Roxas didn't say anything to him, but instead fell back onto his arm and leaned there, observing. Axel blew perfect smoke rings; that was another thing Roxas liked about him.

"You punched that kid in the face," Axel said, and Roxas almost missed it, for he had wandered off into his own thoughts about how he was hungry and whether or not the milk was still good. He didn't think to defend himself when he did finally register what had been said, though. The blond just stared, blankly, as if asking, 'how did you get my window open?'

Roxas' disinterest was the main thing Axel liked about him, so that was okay. The redhead continued, "Did he beat you up? You split like, fast. Like that time Old Misses Goth found you in the cowshed with..." Axel tilted his head back, trying to remember a name, "that... girl. Uh."

Roxas shrugged, because he forgot things usually directly after they happened. He felt that remembering names and events took away from his real passion in life, which was not giving a shit. "No, I shook him," he offered, though, because when he didn't respond for too long Axel got touchy. The oaf needed attention, as vexing as that was.

"Nice," Axel mused, before sliding off of the windowsill and into the little house. He blew one billowy smoke-ring, before finding his way to the table and picking through a bowl of fruit Namine had left out. Axel, who if it is not clear enough yet, was very tall (as well as unusually thin, considering he ate like the obese) and had to bend at the waist to sit, with his knees angled high and grating at the bottom of the little table. He found an apple and nibbled it, watching Roxas with fiery green eyes.

Something spurred the boy on. "That was the prince," he offered up conversationally, which was rather shocking for Axel, who spent the better part of his day trying to get Roxas to make a facial expression. He had a half-chewed chunk of (savory, wet, delicious) apple in his mouth, and there was a slurping sound as the man hurriedly chewed it and swallowed.

"Which one?" he asked, because paupers in a little farming village outside of Kingdom really had no idea what their royal leaders looked like. They weren't used to grandiose things.

Roxas shrugged, losing interest. "I'dunno," he added, which was unusual since Roxas didn't say things simply for the pleasure of saying them. "I thought he would try to have me arrested for _shoving_, not _punching _(this emphasis was important), him."

Axel tossed the apple he had been snacking on between his hands, and Roxas watched him with increasing agitation. To Roxas, everything Axel did seemed so pointless. It was one of the things he _didn't_ like about the oaf. "Why are you here?" the boy finally questioned, left eye doing it's usual tick. He leaned over the side of his cot and found the deerskin pants he'd worn yesterday – there was a smoke in the pocket that he dug out and lit with the matches he kept under his pillow.

"The Haggermunds," he mumbled, as if that explained everything. And, really, it did, since with Axel it was always the same story:

He would move in with an elderly couple and assist them around the house for a week or two (though once he had shacked up with a single, mature woman and lived there for half a year) before his incessant stealing and riot-acting would frazzle the geezers into kicking him out, and then he would slink back to Roxas', crawl in the window, and steal food.

Roxas puffed his cigarette, finding the taste awful since it'd gotten wet in the rain before. "Who will you leech off of, next?" he asked, voice ragged from the smoke in his throat. Axel only shrugged, and they both fell into the perfect silence only seasoned companions can achieve.

"I bet it was Prince Sora," Axel suddenly said, and Roxas wanted to punch him for always ruining their perfect little moments. "He's the younger one of 'em, I think."

Falling back on his bed, Roxas sighed. He didn't bother mentioning that he didn't care, which seemed to fuel Axel further (as per usual). "And I bet anything he _actually _wanted to reward you for saving him from those dick-weeds that were giving him a hard time. But what was he doin' at the tavern..."

Roxas sat up, pinning his best friend with a bone-stripping glare. "Axel," he spoke calmingly, "I really, really, _really_ don't care."

They didn't talk much after that.

* * *

acta est fabula

review kthx


	2. the summmer of our discontent

**Title: **The Fairest of them All

**Description: **A satire in which our resistant hero is forced to wear a magic, gender-switching heirloom so he can attend the ball and save the day. Nobody expected the peckish prince to fall in love, though. Now only hilarity may ensue.

**Pairing(s):** Sora / Roxas _(soiku, akuroku)_

**Author's Note:** slowly but surely we're getting to the point.

* * *

The Summer of Our Discontent

* * *

Early morning dew clung to the leaves overhead, and drops of condensation casually fell from the canopy above in small clusters. When the wind blew, more water would fall. A few stray drops landed haphazardly on Roxas' head, and he mutter, wiping at the cool sensation. The boy kept his eyes low, fixated on the back of Axel's boots as they wadded through the sparse forest. Sticks crunch underfoot; the duo had joined with two other friends, Pence and Hayner, and as a group they ventured further into the trees surrounding their village, searching for a small clearing in which they spent much of their leisure time.

Today they planned to spar.

Roxas kept a tight grip on the branch he had pulled from a dying tree earlier that morning. He was bringing up the rear of the group. Ahead of him his friends stumbled and joked, but he remained quiet; thoughtful. It was early morning, not far past dawn, and the sky (from what he could see of it through the holes in the canopy) was gray and dank. The air around them was a heavy damp and the forest had only just begun to spark with the sounds of life all around. It was cool, and Roxas suppressed a shiver as another drop of morning dew found its way from the leaves overhead to the back of his neck. It dribbled down his back lazily and the boy shifted uncomfortably.

Hayner was the first to break the line of foliage. The group followed after him, and Roxas blinked as he stepped into the clearing. There was nothing remarkable about it. A large boulder and tall grass gave the area character; trees surrounded them on all sides and Roxas thought the small bushels of wildflowers growing with abandon around the boulder were quite pretty. He would be loathe to admit it, but Roxas rather enjoyed nature. He felt that it was a simpler beauty, not marred with the complications of human living. That, and plants were quiet. Animals reserved. These things were not invasive, like people were.

Sometimes he wondered how he could be a person and yet hate people so much. One would be tempted to call it self-loathing, except Roxas really rather enjoyed himself. He liked to think, if other people were just more like him...

Well. No one would ever talk and humanity would shrivel up and die within a few years from stagnancy – so maybe it was better that they weren't.

It was somewhere along this line of thought that Roxas realized the dirty end of a branch was almost touching his nose. He reconnected with reality, and found Hayner standing directly in front of him with a look of malicious intent on his face. "Earth to Roxas," he was saying in a somewhat sing-song voice, wobbling the stick in his hand. "I said, I'm challenging you!"

Roxas swatted the branch out of his face and stepped back, falling into a somewhat animalistic crouch. His own weapon was already at the ready, and he made a point of not responding. There was something unnerving about a silent opponent; about silence in general.

That's what he liked so much about it. If you don't _tell_ people what you're thinking, they don't _know_ what you're thinking.

Without waiting for an indication, Roxas shot forward and brought his branch up towards Hayner's torso. The older boy (by two winters – and he'd never let Roxas live it down) barely had time to respond. He leaned back, bringing his own rotten wood up to block the impending attack. Roxas wasn't one to waste time, though. He believed in quick and purposeful victory, leaving no room for counterattacks. Using the momentum from his previous attack, the boy turned on his heel, swung around in a circle, and brought his branch down towards Hayner's head.

The sparring ritual had been one the boys participated in for years. In the summer months, when the air warmed through the day and was bearable at night, they found this same clearing almost daily and habitually attacked each other as if they were preparing for some far-off war. In the beginning, when they were young and round-faced, so many years ago now, victory had been an easy accomplishment for Roxas. But his opponents, his _friends_, had grown with him; Hayner ducked quickly and avoided a possibly disfiguring strike to the head. He knew how Roxas fought; _dirty_; and he wasn't afraid to dish what he was dealt anymore. As Roxas' branch swung through empty air, Hayner reached out, grabbing the blond's upper arm and shoving him towards the ground.

Roxas stumbled, but didn't fall. He barely had time to catch himself, and purely on instinct stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding Hayner's follow-up strike. A moment lapsed before the sound of wood striking rang through the clearing. Roxas remained stoic, face-to-face with Hayner, their weapons locked in a battle for dominance. Maybe Roxas was smaller, but it was Hayner whose arms were shaking from the force of holding the boy off.

They broke apart and stepped away from each other, each regarding the other with deadly eyes. A moment sprawled between them, and that feeling of tension reminded Roxas what he loved so much about fighting. It was as if they had stepped into another dimension of reality; one where the only goal was to survive by defeating the person in front of you. It was so much simpler and so much more _real_. Roxas continued to watch Hayner with a cool expression, not daring to betray the pulsing of blood in his ears or the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

It was only him and Hayner, and Hayner was no longer the street-savvy, smart-mouthed rebel Roxas spent so much time lulling through the days with. Now he was faceless. An enemy meant to be defeated.

With that thought in mind Roxas kept his gaze steady, locking his eyes with Hayner's and daring him to make the first move. The boy complied, rushing forward yet again. Roxas blocked him, and for a few moments all that could be heard were the sounds of their branches clashing together repeatedly and the harsh breathing coming from their chapped lips. They practically danced around each other, until finally Roxas had tired of their game of cat-and-mouse. He feigned left, turned right, and swung his branch down deftly against Hayner's side. The boy yelped and went down. He gripped his side and gritted his teeth, meaning to stand. Roxas did not goad him or show any emotion at all. He stayed still, waiting.

Hayner planted his faux sword into the soft ground and used it as leverage to stand. He rubbed his side, and a fierce, wild look possessed his features as he fell into stance. Roxas did not move or breathe; he stood blankly and waited for Hayner to make the rash mistake he knew he would.

And he did. The boy rushed forward, unaware of the many openings he'd given Roxas. He meant to attack strong, but Roxas evaded him, smirked, and again swiped his branch against his friend. This time he got Hayner in the thigh. He went down onto one knee with a grimace, glaring up at the expressionless blond. "Is that how you looked at your mother's funeral?" Hayner seethed, finally lashing out at Roxas' perpetual composure.

If a rise was what he wanted, it wasn't what he was going to get. "Yes," Roxas said blandly, smirking inwardly at the way Hayner's face colored. He softly placed his branch on the other boy's shoulder, staring into his eyes. "Do you fold?"

His favorite part of winning was the moment that defeated look bled across his opponent's face. Hayner broke his gaze and looked off to the left in shame, "I fold."

Never once, in all the years they had known each other, had the older boy won a sparring session. Roxas tossed his branch to the side and offered Hayner a hand, which the other boy took grudgingly. "One day..." he started.

"Tough chance," Roxas finished for him, wiping imagined dirt from his deerskins and returning to reality. He found Axel sunning himself on the boulder in the middle of the clearing, puffing on a cigarette with Pence at his feet.

Pence was chubby and kind with messy brown hair and big eyes. He had been picking flowers and making a crown out of them; when the fight was over, he erupted into applause and stumbled to his feet, rushing over to congratulate Roxas and console Hayner. Pence was a bit of a clinger – he didn't really belong with the group. He was too sweet and naïve, he didn't understand the hardships of life and existed to offer solace to others. Still, for whatever reason, he chose to spend his time with a rougher crowd – he himself incapable of violence. Roxas had an idea about Pence; that he understood his short-comings and made a point of surrounding himself with people who made up for them.

If that was the case, the boy was a genius.

Being as it was, he probably was just an outcast who found a home among the other bottom-feeders. Either way, Roxas liked him for his kindness even if he was rather useless. He side-stepped the round boy's brotherly attempt at a hug, and instead offered him a secret, soft smile. Pence brought out a warmer side of Roxas.

Like a puppy. But fatter. And equally likely to wet himself when excited.

Roxas was amused at that thought. He ambled over to Axel, ignoring Hayner's shouts at their round friend to "stop supporting the creepy one". Plucking the smoldering cigarette from Axel's fingers, Roxas took a long, harsh draw off of it and let a plume of smoke billow out from his lungs.

"You only hang out with me for my smokes," Axel said begrudgingly, eying his lost cigarette longingly. Roxas shrugged, taking another puff. "And my devilish good looks," the redhead continued, a catlike grin stretching his lips wide across his face.

"I'm pretty sure it's just the cigarettes," Roxas offered. He watched as Axel fluidly slid from the boulder, thin frame coming to stand in front of the smaller boy. Axel was tall and thin, which one really couldn't reiterate enough. His eyes were always burning intensely, and when he stood next to Roxas, he was a full head taller.

Axel was feral. He moved like an animal, he thought like one. He retrieved his cigarette from Roxas' lips and took one last drag from it, before dropping it into the tall grass and stamping it out. He dropped his head back, exposing his long pale neck, and watched the sky. Roxas joined him, realizing the gray morning air was slowly becoming golden as the day approached. He became aware of the sweat on his back and the way it made his tunic stick to his skin; he removed the offensive article of clothing swiftly and tossed it onto the ground. Bare-chested, Roxas clamored up onto the boulder and watched with feigned interest as Hayner taught a fumbling Pence basic stances and blocks.

His thoughts turned to what Hayner had said earlier, about his mother. He tried to remember her funeral. It had been many years ago, long before he knew Axel or much of anything. He had been a different Roxas then; small, blubbering, a snot-bubble clinging to his nose as he sobbed over a simple wooden cross in a field of death for the woman who gave birth to him. He didn't remember much about that day or the days before it. All he remembered was the warm summer air and thinking that it was all wrong, that it should have been storming and freezing when his mother left the world – that the sky should have cried for her as he did. That the world should no longer have been a place capable of happiness... and yet, life went on. He didn't know if he had felt happy since then, but he was content, and that was enough.

His mother was a shadowy figure in his memory now. Taken by summer fever, leaving his older brother and sister to care for him and raise him to become the pillar of strength he was now.

Roxas chuckled. _Pillar of strength?_ _Yeah, right.._ He may have had ideas of grandeur about himself, but just about anyone else would disagree. Roxas was lazy. Already seventeen winters along, and still without a care in the world. He should have become his brother's apprentice in the smithing shop long ago; instead he smoked and stole and hid in the woods with other lost boys who could not face the responsibilities of their boring lives. He had worked on a farm once, under an ornery old woman who taught him a lot about what it meant to be self-sufficient and a decent person, but her lessons were lost in the back of his mind and the simple life of a farmer was not what Roxas wanted for himself.

Problem was, he didn't know what it was he _did _want. So he smoked and he stole and he ran from reality.

Which honestly suited him just fine.

The boys spent a good chunk of time playing around in the clearing; Axel, Roxas, and Hayner all battling each other fiercely while Pence stuck to the sidelines and made fanciful things out of flowers and sang little songs. It was well into the afternoon before they were done, each bare-chested and dripping with sweat, a pile of heaving bones crumpled on the ground, incapable of anymore physical exertion. The air became hot and heavy, and it weighed Roxas' lungs down as he gasped for breath. In the end it had been him against Axel and Hayner, and they... well. They kicked his ass like it owed them one. There were welts on his arms and chest where they had beaten him, but they also bore the wounds of battle, and for two-against-one, Roxas was rather proud of himself.

Eventually they peeled themselves off of the ground and ventured out in search of a small spring not far to the west where they habitually went after sparring sessions to nurse their wounds and cool down from the summer sun. They fumbled through the trees, and when they finally reached it Hayner and Pence ran forward with abandon, shredding their clothes until they were stark-naked and cannon-balling into the waters. The two played boyishly in the spring while Roxas slowly undressed himself and too waded into the cooling water.

It was like heaven against his skin, immediately reviving him and making the stinging welts on his body become nothing but minor annoyances. He crouched down until the water was just under his nose; he blew bubbles and watched with animal-like intensity as Hayner and Pence splashed about and made a general ruckus. Axel stayed on the shore, swatting at cattails and smoking another cigarette. He didn't like water much, said it was his natural enemy.

"_Water and fire don't mix, Roxas._"

"_Must be why you smell so bad.._"

Roxas took his time rubbing himself down and cooling off, but eventually drifted to where Axel was. The two sat in amicable silence, watching their friends make fools of themselves while Roxas made sure his bits and bobs were hidden in the murky water and Axel blew smoke rings. They did not speak for a long while, but eventually Axel's voice, softer than usual, floated to Roxas' ears. It was barely audible over the churning water.

"The royal guard is coming through town tonight with a convoy."

Roxas looked up, but Axel was preoccupied stripping a cattail. "What for?" he asked in an equally hushed voice.

Axel was quiet a moment before he threw the dismembered plant into the water and looked over at his small friend. "They're bringing gold in from the mountains. There's going to be something happening at the castle soon."

"How much?"

A grin was Roxas' only answer. And for once, it was infectious.

Sparring was great fun, but this?.. Roxas felt a shiver of anticipation clawing at his spine. _This_ was what he lived for.

And it was time to live again.

XXX

Night crept over the small village. The good people closed their doors and slept; the bad people drank and sang and tore the local tavern up in a ritualistic display of deviancy. Roxas didn't know what it was about the night that appealed to him so; he stuck to the shadows and watched people pass by like a voyeur at the edge of a crowd. Tonight two spots at the usual table would be empty. For now Roxas waited, folded into a small corner at the edge of a fruit stand on market-road with the orange ember of a cigarette dangling limping in front of his lips and warming his features each time he inhaled.

It was blue outside: that swift transition from day to night that some referred to as 'twilight' but Roxas preferred to call 'the calm before the storm'. During the peak of summer the days were long; the last of the shops had already closed and people were hurrying home with their heads down and their arms full. Roxas snubbed his cigarette out on the wall behind him, flicking it expertly into the street and rolling his neck from side to side.

Axel was late.

Axel was always late.

Roxas chewed the dry skin from his bottom lip. It had already been mentioned that he liked to steal, that his only real contribution to the community was making shop-owners that much more paranoid when young boys with dirt on their cheeks walked by, but that wasn't the full extent of his passions. A person couldn't survive off of stolen apples and the occasional picked-pocket. Fortunately, several years ago he had learned of a life-line much more lucrative...

It was Roxas' fifteenth summer: the one he referred to as the summer of his discontent. Fresh off the farm with an unclear but certainly gloomy future pending ahead, the boy took to keeping company with all the wrong people. He and Axel were already friends; they had met the winter before when, one freezing night, the fiery redhead had come crashing through Roxas' front door begging for a safe place to hide from his girlfriend's angry husband. The two were immediately inseparable; Roxas liked the way Axel managed to warm up a room, Axel said Roxas had a girl's face without all the bullshit behind it.

That was a complement, right?

Together they kept the wrong side of the law warm during those last cold months. Not long after Hayner and Pence joined their ministry of mayhem, but they were small-time. Cheating at cards, lifting goods from the market, picking pockets... that was the life they led. It wasn't until Hayner's older brother Seifer joined in that their little games became a way of life. He took them under his wing.

Seifer was different from the others, though. Roxas remembered him clearly – the way his lips were set into a permanent grimace and how his eyes were cold and menacing. He made Roxas, the king of stoicism, look like little-miss-sunshine. His personality wasn't exactly much warmer. The others were just kids doing what they had to do to survive, but not Seifer. Seifer enjoyed his work; he was the only one among them that Roxas would have honestly called a criminal. But at fifteen, Roxas didn't know any better. He'd long since learned to avoid people like that. Pain followed them. All they knew how to do was take and take and take until there was nothing left, and after that, they'd leave. But again, he had been young – and when Seifer had taken him aside, telling him he could use the boy's skills for something much bigger than their usual games, Roxas had been all for it.

He and Axel met the cold-eyed thief late in the night. The plan was simple – a group of no more than four guards would be moving a small cart of gold coins and cargo through the village, headed for Kingdom in the name of a private merchant. When they got to the forest the boys would ambush them, taking the spoils for themselves and splitting it three-ways. They were armed with nothing more than clubs, but they were as quick as they were desperate, and the plan went off without a hitch. After that Seifer included them on his heists every few weeks. The money was good, even split three-ways. But all good things come to an end, and this one went off with a bang.

They were all in place; Roxas crouched on a low branch, Axel folded into the hollows of a group of dead tree-roots, Seifer hidden in the shadows across the road. The night was inky and the moon offered little visibility. They waited for the sounds of the approaching convoy, and heard the guards' voices long before their torches lit the forest path. Roxas waited until they passed directly beneath his branch, and when they did he dropped down nimbly and started the ambush. He landed in the cart, immediately smashing his club into the back of the leading guard's head, sending him to the ground instantaneously. Axel and Seifer rushed out of the trees, and it was three-on-three.

But there was something the boys didn't know.

Due to the sudden increase in raidings, whoever was financing this convoy had decided to play it smart and double his protection. A second group of guards was following just out of sight from the first set; they heard the sounds of the ambush and quickly caught up, outnumbering the boys two-to-one. Roxas knew they didn't stand a chance, not matching their shoddy little clubs against the sharp steel swords the guards carried. Their operation was one that relied on surprise and quick execution – disable the guards before they had a chance to react, grab the goods, and get gone before someone stood back up.

The only option left was to run.

Axel had already gotten the drop on the man guarding the left side of the cart. Seifer was caught between the two at the rear. The men had dropped their torches and brandished their swords by now; Roxas threw his club at the head of one, and in the flickering firelight Seifer pulled a scuffed dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into the stomach of the other.

The second group of guards were on him. Seifer turned to face them, and steel glinted in the moonlight as a sword ran him through. Everything stopped. Roxas watched his mentor go stiff, shudder, and crumple in on himself. He fell, blood pooling around him like tar in the torchlight.

And then Roxas was running.

He cleared the cart in one leap, sprinting towards the trees. But he wasn't quick enough. Something solid smashed against the back of the boy's skull (a sickening, wet sound); stars erupted before his eyes. Roxas hit the dirt face-first, muttering something incoherent but deeply profane before slipping out of consciousness.

The first thing he became aware of when the darkness retreated was an insatiable itch surrounding his neck. An entire slew of sensations followed that: stiff pain in his upper back, wood splinters sticking into his wrists, the pressure of his own weight crushing his trachea... Roxas battled long and hard to force his lead-like eyelids open; sunlight assaulted their somber depths, burning and blinding them until finally the boy recognized just precisely _where_ he was. In the middle of the village marketplace – on display – weathered but sturdy wooden stocks holding him in place. Axel was to his left, his gawky body shuddering at the awkward angle he'd twisted himself into so as to fit under the slab of rotten wood that restrained him.

They were sentenced to three days.

Three days.

No food.

No water.

Not even a change of clothes.

It was Roxas' first strike and Axel's second. Neither boy had known suffering like that before; long, bleary days spent roasting under the shameless summer sun dried their skin and cracked their lips. People were not to speak to them, a bit of social isolation enforced by two fat 'guards' (_see: thugs_) from the jailhouse who chose to spend the majority of their watch hustling food from local vendors and choking it down before the boys in a disgusting display of overindulgence and cruelty. Half-way through his second day, when his stomach had become so empty it threatened to turn over on itself and his throat so dry it closed, Roxas watched a dribble of juice stain one of the guards' chins while biting into a particularly ripe apple.

He almost lost it.

Tears stung behind his eyes. He balled his fists until his knuckles went white, fully prepared to scream and sob and rip the very stocks from the ground in his rage. What they were doing was inhumane... _torture_. Roxas thought he might die from the shame of it, if nothing else. His trousers were stained where he'd been forced to relieve himself; his muscles ached with the strain of standing and there was a thick layer of dirt coated across his skin that chafed and itched and made him hot.

He should have cried, and he would have, too, if not for Axel. "_Don't waste the water_," his friend whispered, looking a whole hell of a lot better than Roxas felt.

That night, after the sun went down and the guards drifted off to sleep with guttural snores, a cloaked figure approached. He gave the boys water and wiped their faces clean, wordlessly wrapping their raw wrists with a bit of dingy cloth. When he was done he pulled his hood back, and the moonlight revealed Hayner's boyish face.

That was the last person Roxas was expecting. His throat ached, but he forced words out anyways. "_Hayner.. I'm sorry.. Seifer.. it all happened so fast-" _

The boy hushed him, crouching forward. He was an orphan now, completely alone except for a kid sister who was adopted by one of the wealthier couples in the village not long after his parents' were taken by typhoid fever. There had been another child... an infant girl that died somewhat mysteriously only a month after her parents. It wasn't a surprise that the boys couldn't care for her. Hayner placed a cool hand on Roxas' cheek, speaking words that barely registered in the younger blond's exhausted mind. "_My brother... I don't know if he was good or bad. He took care of me. He did what needed to be done, or so he said..." _Hayner lifted Roxas' chin, locking eyes with him. "_He wasn't fit for this world and I'm glad he's gone_."

After their stint in the stocks, Roxas and Axel swore off their life of crime. They had no idea where Seifer got his information, and neither wanted a repeat of his fate. But winter came again, and the angry cold hollowed their cheeks and made their already empty stomachs long that much more for food. Desperation slipped them back into their old ways; slowly at first, a scrap of food here, a few coins there... Axel, who was staying with another kind elderly couple, started frequenting the tavern and making friends.

"_You'd be amazed what you can find out by buying the right person a beer._"

And just like that, the game was back on. But they had learned a lesson: do not let greed leave you with a sword in your stomach. Seifer ambushed almost every convoy that came through the village, quickly drawing attention to himself and sealing his fate. Axel and Roxas knew better. Sometimes they waited months between raids, taking only enough to sustain themselves and leaving so much that no one came looking for them. They used the same tactics, except they followed the guards through the forest for miles, attacking from the rear when they were sure there were no surprises waiting for them.

Such had been their method over the last two years, and they never made a mistake. With Roxas' wits and Axel's skills, they appeared the be the perfect team...

But all good things come to an end.

Roxas mused over that, realizing his thoughts had carried him to a dark and pensive place. The muscles between his shoulders ached with tension; the sky had grown black and the streets were empty except for the occasional couple stumbling through with unrestrained, drunken laughter. Roxas suppressed a sneer, feeling that he had stripped his lip to the point of bleeding. He winced, unable to stop although he could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Just as the blond was thinking Axel was later than usual a lone, thin figure appeared at the end of the street. Roxas stepped out of the shadows, certain in the dim moonlight that this figure was Axel. No one else was quite so emaciated – not even the starving beggars who would cling to their feet as they passed and had to be cleaned off of the streets in the colder months, when they froze to death with their desperate fingers still outstretched. The village was poor, but such grotesque happenings were rare and only occurred during the coldest years.

People tried to take care of each other.

Tried.

Roxas hurried to where Axel was standing, his deerskin boots silent on the dusty cobblestone road. They regarded each other distantly, the anticipation of what they were about to do making words superfluous between them. Roxas relished the feeling that overcame him in that moment. Axel's jaw has a serious set to it; he was always a mirthful man, except when it came to this. Roxas suspected his friend did not enjoy the risk the way he did.

"_I'm a lover, not a fighter_."

In the center of the village, at the end of market-road, there was a large open area where traveling vendors traded wares amongst themselves. Here the stocks stood on a platform, cold silhouettes against the moonlit sky. Roxas and Axel approached them quietly. Part of their ritual was to stand in front of that dreadful place and remember just why it was they could make no mistakes.

And then they started for the forest, the humid summer air weighing on their backs.


	3. a plan awry

Roxas was in a deep, dreamless sleep - the kind of sleep one would expect from the dead. For what felt like an eternity he stayed in the black, barely aware of whether or not he was even alive. But somewhere at the bottom of that slumber, just below the surface, Roxas was brewing. Buzzing. Aching with some unspoken knowledge that he _needed_ to be awake. That something very important had happened, and the longer he stayed under, the worse it was going to get.

That's when the voices started. Softly at first, more like an impression than anything else. Words without meaning, generated from somewhere outside of him. Roxas tried to follow them, feeling as though he were submerged in a tub of hot water and didn't know which way was up. But things had become clearer. Roxas knew that he was asleep now, and just like that, he woke up.

"Roxas!" A soft, surprised gasp came from his left. Roxas moaned, eyes crusted shut, his body heavy from sleep. With consciousness came pain: first down his side, and then from deep within his head. Roxas forced his eyes open.

Namine was staring down at him, her round face tight with concern. But he could see relief in her eyes. "Roxas, you're awake!" If he had known being awake would hurt so much, he probably would have stayed asleep. Roxas tried to sit up, and immediately cried out.

"Son of a bitch!" The pain in his side, which had previously been a dull ache, was now very much alive. The stinging, splitting sensation was enough to bring water to the boy's eyes. Namine fettered her fingers about, making soothing sounds and pushing Roxas back down on to his cot. The blond allowed himself a moment of confusion. "What happened?" he asked, looking blearily at his sister. The pain had awakened his senses, but the boy still felt disoriented and tired. His head hurt so badly...

Namine pressed cool fingers to her younger brother's cheek. "Why don't _you_ tell _me,_" she replied, but her words weren't calloused or accusing. Namine was a nurturer, and it was in her nature to be calm. "You've been asleep for three days, Roxas. Cloud found you beaten half to death on our front step. I thought..." she trailed off, smoothing back his hair. "We were really worried about you," she finished, sitting back in the chair she must have been occupying before Roxas had awoken. He took a moment to really look at his sister; dark circles were under her eyes, and her cheeks seemed slightly hollow. Her normally smooth and clean hair was frazzled and oily, stuffed into a messy bun at the base of her neck.

Roxas felt a pang of guilt. "Namine..." he started to shift onto his side, so that he could better see his sister, but the pain stopped him. Roxas gritted his teeth, instead throwing off the coarse cotton sheet under which he had been lying. His chest was bare, and the cotton slid off of his bed into a heap on the floor. There were bandages around Roxas' midsection. A lot of them, completely encircling his abdomen. A bit of red peeked through on his right side. Roxas went to touch it, but Namine's cool hands stopped him.

"Someone... cut you. I had to sew you up." Her own fingers found the bloodied spot, and she leaned forward for a better look. "I hope the stitches didn't rip."

This wasn't the first time Namine had had to sew one of her brothers up. When you lived life the way Roxas did, the way most people did, accidents happened. Namine was the best seamstress in town – her stitches were better than the local doctor's. It was amazing her kind and gentle nature endured the many long and grueling nights spent with only the firelight guiding her needle across the skin of some agonized farmer or screaming child. One of the many reasons Axel spent so much of his time at the tavern (or anywhere else trouble could find him) was to avoid the inevitable feverish knocking of some poor mother or wife who needed help and couldn't afford the doctor. And Namine, bless her heart, would never take payment for her work. _"I sell dresses, Roxas. Not stitches."_

Roxas thought that was silly, but there was a part of him that was secretly very proud of his sister.

The red on his bandages did not appear to be growing, so Roxas once again attempted to sit up. This time he moved gingerly, Namine's sure hands guiding him. It hurt, but soon enough the blond boy placed his bare feet on the cool wooden floorboards of their small abode. He set his elbows on his knees, and let his aching head fall into his palms. "Oh god," he started, the memories of what happened finally surfacing from the confusion. "Axel?" he asked, looking up at Namine helplessly. The girl did not respond, only looking down and shaking her head. At that moment the door to their home burst open, bouncing off the wall with force, bathing the entire room with mid-afternoon sunlight.

Roxas blinked rapidly, momentarily blinded. Namine simply looked over. Filling the doorway, large and imposing, stood the silhouette of their eldest brother, Cloud.

"'Bout time you woke up, you lazy little shit."

_Good to see you too,_ Roxas thought-sneered. Cloud strutted into the apartment, his effervescent blond locks bouncing with his stride. He had a bulbous sack slung over his shoulder, one hand steadying it, and appeared to be in very high spirits. Well... as high of spirits as Cloud was capable of being. Roxas' brother had a personality very similar to his own. Moody. Not very talkative. But where Roxas was easy-going, Cloud was quick to anger. He filled his role as head of the household with an iron fist, constantly pressuring his younger brother to work in their shop full-time. _"You can't just float through life Roxas! It's not fair to me or Namine – at the end of the day we're the ones taking care of you, and all you do is mess around!"_

Roxas winced inwardly at that memory, looking away as his brother threw the sack he was carrying into the corner by the fire. Cloud dragged the chair away from his younger brother's cot, pouring himself into it by the table and kicking his feet up. He wore massive leather boots, and he leaned back in the chair with his hands clasped behind his head. Namine was making tea.

"Man," Cloud grumbled, casting a glare Roxas' way, "the girls in town have gone crazy." Roxas rubbed his temple, realizing that someone must have hit him very hard. He could feel a lump of bruised tissue beneath his skin. "They keep coming by my shop, all dewy-eyed. Talking about dancing an' ohh-ing and ahh-ing at me. I swear... women shouldn't look at a man that way." Cloud scratched at his nose, leaving a mark of black oil on it. Roxas had a hard time imagining girls would want his oaf of a brother, but then again, girls didn't know Cloud like Roxas did. And when they were at the tavern, Cloud always fared well. He was much bigger than Roxas. Older and manlier, and better able to provide. He was a blacksmith, after-all. A dying art in a town populated by paupers and thieves.

Thieves... Axel..

Roxas bit his lip, remembering the sound of his friend yelling as he stumbled into the trees. Fighting with the guards. Protecting him. The blond stood quickly from his cot, ignoring the white-hot pain that shot through his right side. "What happened to Axel?" he almost yelled his question, eyes burning at his siblings. Namine looked surprised from her place at the stove; Cloud ticked his lip in disgust.

"That guy," the older blond seemed annoyed at being interrupted, "...is exactly where he should be. In jail. And after the way I found you, don't think you're gonna be seeing him!" Cloud dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward. "Look at you! You're a damn mess. And don't think I don't know exactly what you two were up to, and where you were getting all that damn money of yours."

Namine stepped forward, placing a small wooden cup of tea on the table. "Cloud, calm down," she breathed, placing a hand on the older boy's shoulder. For a moment Roxas was struck; seeing them standing there, Cloud hunched forward, angry – Namine strong beside him. The cup steaming on the table. He was reminded of his parents, or of what he thought parents should be like. He wondered if Cloud had ever experienced this moment, but instead of overbearing siblings, it was real parents telling him what to do and who to talk to. _How_ to be. Roxas felt a deep longing, and he almost became overwhelmed. He stepped back and turned away, running a shaky hand through his hair. It felt disgusting.

"...It's my fault he's in jail, Cloud. Axel saved my life. And I ran away." Roxas clenched his fist at his side, feeling something strange burning in his chest... resolve? "I know what you think of him, but Axel is my friend." Roxas wanted to go on - to make a speech about loyalty and friendship, but his own personality stopped him. Roxas wasn't a hero. He didn't make big speeches, or stand up to his brother. He kept quiet and did his own thing, regardless of what anyone had to say about it. "So, yeah," the boy finished lamely, a crease between his brows. "I'm going."

With that, the youngest of the three blonds moved to the trunk at the edge of his cot and (with more effort than his pride would let him show) lifted the heavy lid; inside, many tattered clothes were bundled up. He reached into the pile and removed a slightly yellowed cotton tunic. Namine was talking in the background, her voice as soothing as the cup of tea Cloud was glaring into. "Roxas, you aren't in very good shape right now. It would be better for you to rest. No one's saying you can't see Axel..."

"I am," Cloud muttered, blowing into his tea. He seemed to have lost his vigor though.

Namine smacked the moody blacksmith on the back of his messy head. Playfully, but still. "_But_," she continued, "we would feel a lot better if you stayed home and out of trouble, at least until you are more fully healed."

There they were again, acting like parents ought to. Roxas didn't need parents. He loved his siblings for everything they had given him, for all the times Namine had stroked his hair and Cloud had stood up for him; Roxas struggled to pull the tunic over his head, not bothering to answer his sister. He felt hot from the effort, and decided to forgo shoes. "I'll be fine, Namine." Roxas tried to sound as steady as possible, refusing to let the pain show. Namine nodded – she knew her brothers well enough to leave them alone once they'd made up their minds.

Roxas took a deep breath after stepping out the door. Warm summer air filled his lungs, bringing him a sort of clarity. It was not long after noon now – the sky was very bright, holding almost no clouds and bringing a flush to Roxas' pale skin. The dirt underfoot was hot from soaking up the sun that day, and Roxas flexed his toes into it as he walked along. He was headed toward the market square, not far from his house. He passed many vendors and small shops along the way; women bustled about with baskets under arm, small children were playing in the shade of the many close-knit houses that lined the street. As Roxas passed the children stopped giggling, instead gawking up at him. His cheek throbbed at that very moment, as if to remind him of the sight he must look. Bruised. Beaten. Hair in a more chaotic state than usual.

Luckily Roxas wasn't one to be self-conscious. He shot the children a glare, and scooped an apple from one of the stalls he passed as smoothly as if he'd paid for it. He grabbed another and stuffed it in to his trousers.

The fruit cooled his tongue. Roxas continued walking along in the sunlight, a feeling of apprehension growing in his stomach. Thoughts of the night before were coming back to him. He had felt so passionately when he spoke to his brother, but now that resolve was twisting. The warmth of the day reminded him of the way it had felt the night when he and Axel had gone into the woods together. The air was stickier then – the moisture so heavy that it was no surprise when a light fog began to appear around the moonlit trees.

Roxas and Axel had continued on, thinking nothing of it, until they had gone far down the dirt path and disappeared into the trees. But the fog continued to grow, twisting about the ancient growth, dampening the night. Roxas was perched in his usual spot on a low hanging branch, stretched out like a cat, occasionally whistling into the wind. Axel was buried somewhere in the trees, his form invisible in the darkness.

Soon enough Roxas could hardly see the ground, not eight feet below him. He grew wary – low visibility meant complications. Complications weren't acceptable. He and Axel had an understanding, if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. But things were beginning to feel wrong, like they had that night so many years ago when Seifer had gasped for his last breath on the end of a sword. When Roxas spent three days on his knees before God himself – just the memory made his neck and back ache. "_Axel_!" the blond hissed into the night, deciding he did not fancy another round in the stocks. "_Axel! We shouldn't do this,_" he repeated.

There was a shuffling from behind the trees, and Roxas thought he saw the spindly shape of his best friend appear. "_Axel, it's too damn foggy._"

"_Dammit_, _Roxas. We need this._"

Axel stood in the middle of the road, hands placed in mock-anger on his hips. At least, Roxas assumed it was mock-anger. You could never be sure with Axel. Usually the friendliest man in the world, until he didn't want to be. The tall redhead stood underneath Roxas' tree and glared up. "_And how will we be buying booze for the next month if you bail now?_"

Roxas wiggled around on his branch, the wood digging into his thighs. "_Where there's a will, there's a way_..." the blond replied, wondering if his friend could even see his face in the fog. This wasn't the first time they'd had to abort a mission – that was an unavoidable part of being careful. Normally they would both go their separate ways into the trees, and meet up at the tavern later in the night. It wasn't safe to take the road back, not with a convoy coming through. Guards were always on edge, ready to draw steel at the first sign of trouble. It was quick wit and planning which got the boys through their heists, and this night in particular would not be conducive for that.

"_Fine..._" Axel huffed, sauntered back into the trees.

At that moment a flash of lightening lit up the entire sky in a brilliant cross-work of electric veins. Roxas hadn't been expecting a storm that night, but it made sense, considering the air around had been so heavy with moisture. Mechanically the boy counted: one... two...

A long time ago Cloud had told him that the time which passed between a flash of lightening and the thunder that followed was the time it would take for the rain to fall. At three seconds the sky clapped, the sound beating down through the forest as only a force of nature could. Not long then. The silence which followed the thunder was deafening. Roxas sat there a moment, glaring into the blackness of the forest with strained eyes. It seemed darker now that it had been so bright.

Roxas moved to haul his leg over the left side of the branch, but quickly found the appendage resisting his endeavor. The leather of his deerskins were already slick with sweat and sticking to his skin; with the air so heavy, they'd become more uncomfortable than usual. Roxas again attempted to throw his weight to one side, and felt the fabric pull against him in the opposite direction. He searched with blind fingers along the edge of the immobile thigh, and quickly found the spot where his garment had managed to become entangled with the wood from the branch.

The teen sighed, nimbly working at the fabric. It was thick, and hard to maneuver. _Almost… got it…_

The rain started to pour.

Roxas wanted to yell out in frustration. His hair immediately became plastered to his forehead, water rushing into his eyes. He continued working the snag, almost ready to rip the damn deerskins and offer them up to Namine's handiwork. He was so focused on his mission that the blond almost missed the sound of wheels grinding up the forest path. The rain was so heavy Roxas could barely hear anything else... but he did hear. The boy's head snapped up; he lowered himself flat on the branch, determined to go unseen. The rain had cleared out most of the fog, but that didn't mean Roxas could see any better. The forest was as black as usual, but this was an advantage. If he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him. Roxas held his breath as the convoy grew louder the closer it came.

It was just perfect, him being stuck in a tree like that. Axel was probably already gone, and he couldn't very well call out to his friend anyways. There was nothing to be done but to wait and to stay so silent that nothing would betray his position. The guards of the convoy would not take kindly to finding someone poised such as Roxas. Maybe he and Axel had become more adept at their game of thievery, but it was not as if their little raids went unnoticed. The guards would know what he was doing here, and only trouble would follow that.

No.. he would be deft. There was nothing to betray him. Visibility was working for and against him. He could only track the convoy by sound, and he strained to listen with his face only inches above the branch. They came closer and closer, until they couldn't be more than fifteen feet away. Roxas could hear the guards talking amongst themselves. He held his breath, heart pumping in his ears. Not far now. They were almost directly beneath him.

Lightening crossed the sky. Roxas could have laughed, if his eyes hadn't immediately locked with the eyes of the guard who was bringing up the rear of the convoy. They stared at each other in equal surprise as the sky briefly illuminated the entire forest. The guard's face looked very pale from the white light, and Roxas imagined his didn't look much different. The sky remained lit for less than two seconds, but that felt like an eternity. What luck, that the guard had been staring right in his direction when it struck. What luck. The lightening disappeared, the forest went black, and Roxas heard the guard yell out dumbly, "_Ambush_!"

_Squish_.

Roxas grimaced, realizing he had stepped in a puddle of mud absentmindedly. It startled him out of his reverie. The mud was hot from the summer air, and it stuck between his toes. He was in a shaded alleyway coming out of the residential district of the east side of the village. This was the nicer area, where their parents' home had been and where Namine and Cloud barely managed to rent a small dwelling on their measly wages. Across town, past the market square and artisan districts, was the jail. Roxas normally went to the market square because this was where the out-of-towners peddled their goods and traded amongst themselves before heading to Kingdom, and he was not known there. It was easier to swipe food or pick pockets, and the guilt was less because Roxas did not know the traveling vendors. He felt no shame taking from them when their bellies were big and they swatted at the village children in disgust or cat-called the young girls who worked the shops lining the square.

Roxas didn't think of himself as the heroic type. He looked out for himself and that was the long and short of it. But when he saw the merchants pinching at the bottoms of girls who had only just come into their bodies, or kicking at small children, there was a part of him which boiled in rage. Maybe it was Namine's influence – his kindhearted older sister had never let injustice go unpunished.

The difference between Roxas and Namine was that where she would step forward and shame the vendors, Roxas would operate in the shadows, lifting their wears and snagging bags of coins. Occasionally vandalizing their carts so they may break down in the forest and be easy targets for vagabonds and vagrants.

No.. Roxas was not a hero.

He had not been a hero that night, either. His mind turned inward again as he made his way to the opening of the artisan district and moved through the crowds of townspeople all browsing the shops and working the stores. The image of the last guard's face came into the boy's mind – pale white in the lightened sky.

"_Ambush!_" the man had yelled out into the dark. The other guards with him... three, if Axel was informed correctly, all began scrambling and yelling. Thunder crashed overhead, and Roxas knew he was in a precarious position. He threw himself off of the tree branch, feeling the caught leg of his deerskins rip and landing unevenly on his feet. It was so _dark_ outside. The only sense he could rely on was his hearing, and he was not used to having to do so. He tried to focus as the thunder silenced. Behind him a man yelled out in the way one does when meaning to attack. Roxas slid to the right, feeling the guard's body glide past his own and hearing a sword thud into the ground. He kicked out in that direction and his foot met the soft torso of the man who had attacked him. Following the movement through the boy crashed his club into the guard's body.

The guard fell. Lightening crashed again, and it painted Roxas a dreary scene. The rain was still pounding, but through it he saw that there were two guards on the opposite side of the cart looking confusedly around the previously pitch-black forest. Another guard – the one whose face had been burned with electricity into Roxas' mind as the man who had given away his position – had rounded around the back of the cart and was rushing towards him. Thunder. The sky went black. Roxas could hear the guard's feet slopping through he mud.

There was no way he could face him man-to-man. Not in the dark. Not when the guard wielded a steel sword and Roxas had no real way of knowing what he would do with it. The boy had to use the darkness to his advantage if he didn't want to end up like Seifer. He ducked down into the mud and moved agilely towards the trees. This man was not as dumb as the other, but he couldn't move undetected. Roxas sat in waiting until the guard passed in front of him.

He struck a quick blow to where he thought the man's head ought to have been. It didn't feel right, and he knew immediately he had missed his mark. But the man with the white face sunk to the ground anyways. Roxas had probably hit him in the neck.

There were two more guards, though, and Roxas couldn't hear them over the rain. He was blind and deaf now. What was he supposed to do? _Smell_ them?

Roxas would have laughed at that if he wasn't beginning to feel slightly panicked. He usually prided himself on his ability to remain calm – after all, that was the one trait the rest of his personality was built on. All the boredom and contempt was merely the extension of his experiences with other people overreacting at the slightest provocation. He had learned to under-react. The less you gave away, the more power you had. Especially over people.

That line of reasoning wasn't going to do him any good now, though. That calm facade was slipping. His heart was beating heavily; his nerves were firing with electricity throughout his body. Roxas was pressed tightly against a tree, hoping the shadows in the inky forest would keep him from being detected. It was time to play defense. If he tried to run away they would surely hear him. He couldn't attack when he had no idea of their position.

_Wait for the lightening. Run when the thunder claps. _Roxas repeated this over and over to himself, straining to listen for the sounds of boots on the wet ground but hearing only the constant drumming of the rain.

One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four.

The sky lit up brilliantly, banishing each shadow on the forest floor to oblivion and revealing to Roxas that the spare guards had moved to the other side of the cart. One was stooped down with a knee in the mud, apparently tended to his fallen comrade. The other had his back to Roxas and had drawn his sword. Thunder rolled over the forest, but the sky did not go black. Instead lightening continually played a game of tag across the sky. The guard with the drawn sword turned around quickly, his eyes immediately finding Roxas pressed haphazardly against a tree-trunk.

In a moment of suicidal lunacy, Roxas waved.

He pushed off of the tree immediately, leather boots sliding in the mud. The sky was calm for a moment but quickly the lightening returned. There would be no escape covered by thunder and darkness now. No confusion with which to cover himself. The guard was already running at Roxas – it was not as if they had been so very far from each other – and Roxas readied himself. By the time the guard was swinging his sword down Roxas had already jumped forward and met his movement. The steel bit into Roxas' wooden club, and the force of the blow ripped it from his hand and sent the boy stumbling back. _Maybe running would have been a better idea_, Roxas mused; he had slid back through the mud and almost tipped backwards onto his butt. That would have been just fantastic.

Instead he kept his ground. The guard took two lumbering steps forward and hauled his sword over his shoulder – a movement meant to chop Roxas in half. The boy skirted to the left. He had never had the luxury of practicing with a real sword, but he knew a movement like that would be slow and hard to maneuver. The sword buried itself into the tree Roxas had been in front of. The guard shuddered for a moment, trying to pull the metal from the wood with no avail. Roxas was acting on instinct now. He planted his hands firmly into the mud and pushed up from the ground, swinging his leg with precision and kicking the guard hard in the gut. The man groaned out and doubled over, leaving his sword lodged in the tree.

Roxas righted himself, breathing heavy. He meant to acquire the sword, but at that moment something sharp pierced his side. He screamed out in surprise. The sky went black, and Roxas fell to his knees. He gripped his side, shaking, and found his hand coated with warm wet liquid. Briefly an image of a gold-bathed farm from his childhood filled his mind. A scythe gleaming in the sunlight. The first time he'd understood his own morality. The scythe became a blood-soaked sword bathed in firelight as Seifer fell to the ground. Roxas was also falling. He crumbled forward into the mud, crying out like a wounded animal with nowhere to hide.

A boot connected with Roxas' head in the darkness. It was solid and the boy saw stars, he rolled over on to his back as lightening lit up the sky and illuminated the man who had gotten the jump on him. The guard was raising his sword, ready to finish the job. Roxas felt a shriek bubbling in his throat, but before he had the indignity someone shouted from behind, "_Hey! Pick on someone your own size!_"

A moment before the sky blackened Roxas saw a flash of red hair and a long, thin body colliding with the man above him.

_Axel_.

If Roxas had been a praying man he would have thanked god, but instead he shuddered on to his side and struggled up, using the tree as leverage. His hand found the sword which had been previously abandoned and used it to steady himself. He wasn't strong enough to wrench it from the tree, though, and blood was still rushing from his side. The boy strained to look out over the clearing; he could see nothing, and only heard muffled yells and Axel's crazed laughter.

He had no more fight left in him. He felt weak, and his head was swimming. Abjectly Roxas swung around the side of the tree and stumbled off into the forest. He pushed himself over logs and clawed through branches, and soon enough the road was far behind him. The last thing he remembered was clutching at his brother's strong silhouette in the early morning light as he cried out his shame, crumpled on the front stoop, before succumbing to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Axel sat hunched over on the grimy floor of an underground jail-cell. A rusted cooper pipe leaked overhead into a puddle on the floor, splattering mud up and dirtying the redhead's boots. A lone storm-grate provided light into the otherwise damp room; small specks of dust floated through the beams of sunlight and settled onto Axel's downturned head. He'd been humming a little song, not exactly feeling down – as Axel wasn't really the type to indulge in self-flagellation – but he was quite tired. How long had he been in that cell? At least a few days had gone by. He was hungry... food wasn't exactly a top priority for prisoners and it was scarce enough without bars keeping him from it. He was achy, too, from the beating he'd taken in the woods when saving that shrimp Roxas. But most of all, Axel was lonely.

Pence had been by the day before, bringing with him a roll of stale bread too old to sell from the bakery his parents ran. Hayner had come some time before that, but he'd only run anxious fingers through his hair and given Axel a bit of tobacco through the grate. Axel considered it a fantastic gesture, considering he and Hayner were hardly close.

There had been no sign of Roxas, except maybe his back disappearing in to the woods on that night.

It wasn't that Axel was sour about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. Not that the man would ever admit it, but he felt a peculiar sense of… anxiousness… over his younger friend's nonappearance. One might even go so far as to say that he was worried about the boy. Roxas could be dead in the woods for all Axel knew, and while the entire situation (the "self-sacrifice", so-to-speak) was not exactly in the thin man's nature, he couldn't help but feel somewhat cheated if his act of heroism had been in vain.

"What a jip," the redhead scoffed, fishing about the inner lining of his shoe and retrieving a small wad of paper and tobacco. He ran his tongue gently over the make-shift cigarette, rolling it between his calloused fingers with his lips set in a determined fashion. He couldn't exactly smoke the damn thing, considering Hayner had been gracious enough to leave him tobacco, but not so generous as to include a source of fire. Axel had tried several attempts that were, in his opinion, ingenious – to light the cigarette. First he'd dug up a piece of rock from the jail's floor, and struck it against the rusted pipe which supplied water to the upper area. The pipe had been so corroded that it broke under the pressure of Axel's fists (and covered him in quite a bit of what he chose to believe was muddy water). After that he'd used a glass cup provided to him by a particularly charitable guard to catch sunlight and angle it at the end of the cigarette. Unfortunately the glass was murky, and no matter how many times Axel buffed it he could not concentrate the light adequately to start a fire. After a while he simply left the tobacco by the grate and hoped it would spontaneously combust in the afternoon heat.

It's amazing the things you will do to satisfy an addiction when you have more time than materials.

Axel once again placed the rolled tobacco under the grate, knowing it would not light, but hoping at least to keep it dry until such a time came that fire was bestowed upon him. Axel was many things, but a pessimist was not one of them.

He wondered how he should waste – or, _occupy_ – his time today. For the most part the man had opted to stare in to the abyss and contemplate the relative differences between being in jail and being, for lack of a better term, a vagrant. The food supply was about the same. Jail definitely had more consistent amenities, but vagrancy offered access of alcohol and (he glanced longingly at his unlit cigarette) matches. There was also something to be said about the company. While the mercenaries who guarded traveling vendors were rather unkempt and cruel, the men who worked at the city jail were actually rather friendly. It wasn't so much that Axel had struck up any life-long friendships over his stay, but he hadn't been exposed to any indignities, either. They were fairly magnanimous, all things considered.

Of course, Axel liked to think he preferred the company he kept outside of his cell. Some were more uncouth than others. And of course, there was Roxas…

Axel began to hum to himself – a slight tune he'd been working on since his incarceration. It was a rather valiant song, he thought. He drew shapes in the dirt as he began a soft song, which grew in gusto as the minutes came by. He had just reached a particularly glorious part of the song when a muffled laugh found its way to the thin man's ears.

"Wow, you really must fancy yourself a hero then, Axel."

The redhead was on his feet in a matter of seconds. He knew that voice – eternally expressionless, except when doused in sarcasm. "Roxas!" Slightly embarrassed at his own excitement, Axel corrected himself. "Seeing as I saved your life, I think that qualifies me as a hero."

The blond boy's face appeared at the opening of the grate. He squinted curiously; "I was fine."

"If you consider cowering before a sword to be fine, then yes. You had everything under control." Axel was smiling for the first time in days. There was nothing he enjoyed more than putting that brat in his place. He paused, "Say, got a light?" Axel flicked his cigarette through the grate before Roxas could reply.

Roxas leaned against the cobblestone wall, fishing a pack of matches from his trousers and striking one under the protection of his palm. He lit the cigarette for Axel, and then threaded it through the grate. A hearty puff of smoke was his only response, and the blond smiled at that. He lit his own cigarette and took a much need drag from it – the deep breath caused an ache in his side, but Roxas ignored it. Instead he opted shade his eyes are glare up at the midday sun.

"Well, I'm glad you aren't dead," he finally said, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Back at ya," was Axel's response. Roxas turned to glance at the grate, and behind the old bars he could see the redhead's burning green eyes. He turned his body more fully to face his friend. "How long are they keeping you down here? Did you… did they put you in the stocks?"

Another billow of smoke came from behind the grate. Axel didn't answer a moment, but his eyes shifted down uncomfortably. "Not exactly," he muttered. The man turned and leaned himself next to the opening, spitting a bit of spare tobacco from his lips. "It's my third strike, you know. No stocks for me. Can't say I miss 'em." Roxas waited for an answer to his first question. The silence spanned between the two friends for a long while, before finally Axel turned back to the grate and locked eyes with the blond boy. "…They aren't letting me go this time, kid."

Usually Roxas would make some quip about Axel's own immaturity, but this time he found himself speechless. What did that even mean? If they weren't going to let Axel go, then what were they going to do with him? Keep him to rot in the cellar of the jailhouse? _Execute_ him?

Suddenly Roxas was hyperventilating. He twitched visibly, running a hand through his grungy hair and swallowing what felt like a rock in his throat. "I-…what?" he finally asked, trying to regain his demeanor.

"Third strike," Axel repeated, smirking. "They're shippin' me off to Kingdom next week. Looks like I'm going in to, well, the _service_ industry." Roxas didn't need to ask any more questions. Involuntary servitude. They were going to sell his best friend. They were going to sell him, all because he had saved Roxas' life. It wasn't uncommon knowledge that once one was sold in to slavery all sorts of awful things were bound to occur. Axel would probably be put to work in the mines, or maybe made to serve in the military. Either way, he'd probably be dead within the year. Criminals sold in to slavery were always given the hardest jobs. They were literally worked to death.

Before he could stop himself, Roxas was grasping at the grate. "_No_," he hissed, head pounding where he had been bruised. "You're in this situation because _you saved me_. I'm going to get you out of this, Axel." Roxas clenched his fists in uncharacteristic passion.

Axel scoffed. "And how do you plan to do that? You gonna buy me?" The redhead leered, his cigarette long burnt-out and hanging from the edge of his lips. "Maybe you'd like that."

Roxas felt a surge of annoyance. Axel was always like this. "Why can't you take anything seriously?"

Leaning back against the cell wall, the lithe man chuckled. "It's not in my nature. You wouldn't like me any other way." He winked mischievously, "Anyways. You know I've always wanted to see the big city."

How could it be possible that Axel was the one imprisoned, and yet Roxas was the one being comforted? The blond signed, falling back on his haunches. He snubbed his own cigarette out in the dirt and dropped his head back, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of the sun on his face with closed eyes. "I'll get you out of this," he finally said, a resolute feeling coming over him. "Even if I have to break you out myself."

Right about this time one of the city guards rounded the corner and just about ran in to Roxas. The blond started, looking up with his still slightly swollen face and scowling. The guard seemed surprised. He was a stout man, with sun-burnt skin and beady eyes, and he took a step back after realizing someone was in his way. There was a stack of papers under his arm. "Hey, kid, what are you doing?" He looked between Roxas and the grate, which had a puff of smoke wafting out of it at that moment, and quickly realized what was going on. "Get out of here… no fraternizing with the prisoner."

"I didn't realize I was in solitary confinement!" Axel called from within his cell. He blew even more smoke from the grate, almost as if to rub in the one simple pleasure he seemed to have left.

If the guard noticed, he didn't show it. He kept his eyes on Roxas. "Go on," he repeated, motioning for the blond to leave. Roxas hesitated, but a quick throbbing sensation in his side reminded him that he couldn't stay long as it was. He let out a sigh and labored to his feet, wiping dust from his bottom; as he did so, the teen fell back in to his usual hapless demeanor. His shoulders sloped lazily and a lazy expression slid over his face.

"Well, see ya, then."

Roxas started off, not glancing back for fear that the desperate feeling which had taken residence in his gut would show through his otherwise stoic features. As he rounded the corner he heard Axel call out, "I'll just wait here!"

Against his will, Roxas smiled.


End file.
